The Moriarty Glitch
by wicked-n-lazy
Summary: A glitch in time pulls The Doctor and Donna on a detour from their travels, leaving them standing on Baker Street, London. But something's wrong, and it isn't the same Baker Street that either of them are familiar with...
1. Turbulence

AN: I made my way quite recently all the way through Nine up to Ten, and just started Eleven. Doctor Who has drawn me right the way in, and I just had a random little idea for a cross over. However, there are lots of details I haven't worked out yet, so updates may take a while if I manage to get through this story. The last fic I started on a whim kind of fizzled out of me, but I thought I'd give it another go. Will try to preplan a bit more of this one before posting any more, but hope you enjoy it anyway!

I chose Ten and Donna because they are my favourite.

* * *

><p>A journey in the TARDIS was rarely a smooth one; the ship designed for six pilots had for a long time only been directed by one, who was currently running circuits around the control panel as he tried to steady an unusual amount of turbulence.<p>

''I'll smudge my eyeliner in a minute!'' Donna scowled, holding her travel mirror steady on her lap, sticking out a boot so that her make up bag couldn't slide away as the TARDIS tipped.

The Doctor lunged for a set of buttons to his right, perplexed as the ship continued to shake in the vortex.

''Come on, stop being so naughty-'' He muttered to the control panel, glasses glowing blue from the lights that winked at him disobediently. It wasn't playing nice. But it couldn't help it. Something was pulling the TARDIS off their planned route, something small but significant, but he couldn't manage to trace it with all the rocking around. A thin hand flew up to grab at short brown hair, already ruffled in its usual style.

''We're going to have to make a detour, I can't pull us out of this- we're caught in something, like a drain, it's pulling us down-''

''A detour where? What's pulling us down?''

Donna watched her makeup bag shoot across the TARDIS floor. She let it go, mirror still in hand as she stumbled across to the control panel. None of it made any sense to her; she wondered sometimes how much of it actually made sense to The Doctor…

''Oof, _there_ we go, we're out of the slipstream now! I should at least be able to land us…''

''Land us _where_?''

Despite having no clue what had gripped the TARDIS, The Doctor's eyes were alight, grinning across at his red headed companion.

''We're about to find out!''

* * *

><p>''All of time and space and your default is London…'' Donna muttered, retrieving the various contents of her bag from across the TARDIS floor. She shoved them back into the bag along with the mirror and zipped it with relish, tossing it to rest on top of the control panel.<p>

''Nothing wrong with London. Especialllllly- ooh, Baker Street...''

''Yeah, right. _Amazing_…''

''Something yanked us in this direction, I just need to work out why…trying to get a scan running.''

''Right. Well while you get things sorted in here, I'm going to grab a coffee.''

''Ooh, Latte for me,'' The Doctor responded, focused on the TARDIS controls. He could feel _that look_, though, and as he raised his eyes to Donna again he saw the raised eyebrow and the ghost of a smirk on her lips. ''What? _What_?''

With a sigh, Donna Noble stepped out of the TARDIS. The air was unmistakeably _London_,though why she couldn't exactly explain in words_. _It just was, and she knew it all too well, shrugging her jacket around her a little more against a chilly breeze. It was wet out, too. Of course it bloody was. She took a few steps forward towards the main street, casting her eyes up and down the road for the nearest coffee place.

Something niggled in her memory as she did so. She frowned, looking from one end of the street to the other, and back again, trying to pinpoint what it was.

''Wasn't there some museum on this road or something?''

''Actually make it an espresso, think I need a jolt to figure this out. Looks like there was some sort of glitch as we were passing…'' The Doctor called, still fiddling with the controls.

''I swear there was…Doctor, the Sherlock Holmes museum's gone.''

The Doctor suddenly appeared, sticking his head out from around the TARDIS door and looking supremely disappointed.

''Awww, no, I liked it in there, the people all dressed up in character and the old floorboards- have they closed it down?''

''No. It's just….gone. Like it weren't even there…''

She indicated the space, which presented nothing now but a small shop dedicated to the Beatles and a slightly-better-than-grim café and sandwich bar called Speedy's.

''Donna.''

She looked in the direction that the Doctor was staring over his glasses, her gaze settling on the black door of a house. The knocker was askew, the numbers above reading 221B.

''Yeah, so? This is Baker Street, that's the address Sherlock Holmes lived in.''

''Yes, but there _is_ no 221B…there never has been. It was always fictional and now…here it is. And the museum's gone, just gone…oh.''

''What?''

''_Oh_!''

''_What_, spaceman?'' Donna knew this game could go on forever if she didn't snap him out of it sharply.

''That's it,'' The Doctor said, his grin at full elasticity, ''another universe, this is another universe, separate from yours and almost the same except that here, 221B is real, and someone lives there.''

''What, d'you mean- no. _No, _shut up, Sherlock Holmes isn't real, he was made up like a hundred years ago by what's his face.''

''Arthur Conan Doyle, yes. But there was a glitch in time. Something's happened in this universe that wasn't meant to, and the TARDIS was drawn to it…this is where the source is.''

''How can Sherlock Holmes exist in another universe? How?''

''A story has a life of its own- when you create a story, you are literally creating life, creating something out of nothing but words and imagination, and that must create universes where those things are reality…it's just a different reality, Donna, do you see? Every decision you make can spawn a dozen different universes, all focused on the other decisions you could have made, but didn't.''

''Are you telling me that every time someone writes something, it makes another universe?''

''Quite possibly. Well, pretty likely. Welll- yes.''

''So, Sherlock Holmes is up there, right now.''

''Yes.''

''Every story?''

''Yup.''

''So somewhere out there in another universe, there's a real Jack Sparrow that looks like Johnny Depp?''

''Umm-''

''Oh my _God_!''

''Well, he might not look the same, but essentially…oi! Anyway, we need to work out what happened here, what caused the glitch. Donna-'' The Doctor was beaming at her, before looking across the road to the glossy black door, ''let's pay a visit to Sherlock Holmes.''


	2. 221 B

AN- Chapter two, here goes nothing! Thanks to those of you who have read and commented already, you're very kind.

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><p><em>Taptaptaptap.<em>

The Doctor knocked the door with great relish, standing back with Donna as they waited for an answer. She frowned, nudging him with her elbow.

''Hold on. If we're about to meet Sherlock Holmes, why aren't we in Victorian times?''

''I don't know. Great isn't it?'' The Doctor continued to grin, rapping the knocker one more time.

''This is like Agatha Christie on another level…oh my God- does that mean-''

The travellers looked at each other, their eyes wide, alighting on the same conclusion.

''Poirot!'' They chorused, caught in the middle of their laughter when the door was opened. An older lady looked at them with a quizzical smile, short, fluffy brown hair greying at the temples. Her eyes were friendly, but curious.

''Sorry, caught me doing the washing up,'' she told them, waving a marigold clad hand, ''can I help you?''

''Yes, actually, we're ah, here to see Sherlock Holmes…'' The Doctor said, shooting Donna a conspiratorial look.

''Oh, umm- do you have an appointment? It's just that I don't think he's interested in seeing visitors just now, he's in a funny mood. Well, he very often is, but funnier than usual…''

''We're from the gas board, actually, here to give everything a check over, there's been a few problems in the area you see.'' Donna replied, elbowing the Doctor. A loud 'of course!' and a nod was his response, whipping out the psychic paper he kept inside his jacket pocket.

''Sorry, it's just not every day you get to meet a famous person doing the rounds.'' He added. ''Just a routine check, nothing to worry about, and we'll be out of your hair before you know it, Mrs-?''

''Oh, Mrs Hudson.'' The woman replied, unable to help smiling back at the bespectacled young man on her doorstep.

''Mrs Hudson, of course- may we come in?''

* * *

><p>''That's a funny little gadget you've got there, dear.'' Mrs Hudson remarked as she handed Donna a cup of tea. There was a steady yet pleasant high pitched humming noise filling the kitchen as the Doctor gently swept the sonic screwdriver around, his tongue tucked into the corner of his mouth in concentration.<p>

''Oh it's the latest tech.'' Donna assured her, watching him work. He veered up and around to the ceiling once, twice, a last time before he shut the screwdriver off.

''There's another kitchen upstairs, yes?'' She asked, setting her tea down. The landlady nodded.

''Yes, that's the boys kitchen.''

''Mind if I scurry up for a quick look?'' The Doctor asked, ''everything seems alright down here but I'm detecting a little something from upstairs, just need to make sure there isn't a potential leak.''

''Oh, I shouldn't like to disturb him at the moment…''

''It'll just take a tick- scouts honour.'' He told her, with a little wink. ''He won't even know we're there.''

''Quiet as mice!'' Donna added, already seeing the older woman's resolve start to crumble at the mild amount of charm the Doctor was laying out, giving her a reassuring touch to the arm a moment later.

''Well, I'm sure you've seen enough kitchens that theirs won't shock you! Just don't open the fridge...''

Expect the unexpected; that was a mantra that Donna had learned to keep, reminding herself from time to time in her head that anything mad that she experienced with or because of the Doctor was probably not that crazy in the grand scheme of things. The universe was an endless expansion of mystery, and she knew that better than ever nowadays.

And yet, she was still taken aback to find a sullen young man with wavy dark hair sitting in the living room, staring hard into the empty air. He didn't look up as they entered the room, barely even breathed.

''Is _that_ Sherlock Holmes?'' She breathed to the time traveller beside her, peering around the doorframe before he stepped into the room.

''Must be…bit young, very young,'' He murmured back, offering a smile as the man turned his head to regard them both levelly, ''hello!''

''Who are you and what do you want?'' He asked them, retaining his unnatural stillness.

''We're here to check your gas appliances, bit of trouble round this street, routine stuff, nothing to worry about, are you really Sherlock Holmes?''

''Yes.'' The stiff response. ''And there is nothing wrong with our gas appliances. If there was, I would have blown up the flat yesterday afternoon.''

''Ah, well, better safe than sorry, won't be a minute.'' The Doctor replied, striding forward and taking in the room; black and white floral wallpaper, a madness and mess which he knew had method to it, a young man staring at him hard in a plain black suit. As if to appease him, the Doctor took out his sonic screwdriver, flicked it to the setting he wanted and tossed it backwards to Donna, who clutched it to her chest in a fumbled but successful catch.

She opened her mouth, ready to go full stream, but a look from the Doctor gave her cause to restrain herself. Instead she raised her eyebrows, giving him a warning look, and went along to check the kitchen.

''I'll leave the fridge alone, shall I?'' She asked sweetly, looming in close to the Gallifreyan. He flinched, only half playfully, glancing back to Sherlock Holmes who had risen from his chair.

''You aren't here to do any gas check,'' he told them both matter of factly, ''neither of you are in uniform, and while women do occasionally work in such a profession, it's rather unlikely, especially a woman such as you.''

''Beg your pardon?''

''Donna.'' The Doctor warned, hearing the tone in her voice as she turned to look at them both- but both Donna and Sherlock ignored him.

''Hair down, unprofessional for travelling door to door checking gas meters and appliances, full make up, slightly smudged, applied during travel, inappropriate footwear, trousers neat but not intended, again, for working from house to house-''

''Blimey, you get right into it don't you?'' The Doctor noted with a helpless grin, pulling out the psychic paper again and brandishing it at the younger man. ''Here's my identification-''

''And where is hers?'' Sherlock demanded, snatching the ID and giving her a sceptical look.

''Left it in the van.'' She responded airily, jerking the screwdriver in the direction of the house front.

''There isn't a van, there's nothing outside.''

''It's around the corner.''

''John Smith? Really?'' Sherlock scowled at the ID, looking up at the man who had handed it over, ''this is _obviously_ a forged ID card-''

''Oop, hold on, hold on-'' The Doctor recognised the little pull of the screwdriver, the sound it made when it caught a trace of what he'd set it to find; he yanked it away from Donna and, with a quick little turn, yanked back the ID from Sherlock as well. ''Mind if I have a peek over here? Detecting something off-''

''There's nothing over there for you to check, you're both lying and I want you to get out. _Mrs Hudson_!''

''What exactly is in the fridge then? Can't be any worse than Sandra's boyfrie-_ohmygod_!'' Donna slammed the fridge door shut a second after opening it, stepping backwards and staring at Sherlock. ''There's a head in the fridge!''

''Where've you gone, come on now…'' The Doctor murmured, waving the sonic back and forth until he picked up on the trace again. He was drawn to a wastepaper basket near the fireplace, frowning lightly.

''There is a head- in the fridge- _why_ is there a head in the bloody fridge!?''

''It's research. Are you going to tell me who you are or do I need to call the police?''

''Mmn….just a trace…this isn't the right place. This isn't the right _time_…'' The Doctor continued, oblivious now to either of the others in the flat. He reached into the bin, pulling out a neat little silver pen knife, lodged hard into an apple. He turned it, seeing large letters carved into the fruit, the flesh having turned a little brown, the skin curling around the letter edges.

''I. O. U?''

A hand on his collar suddenly caught the Doctors attention, finding himself hauled to his feet and pulled away from the bin.

''_Get out_. I know who you are, both of you.''

''What?''

''He's got a head in the fridge, he's _mental_!''

''What is it, whatever's the matter?'' Mrs Hudson bustled in from the landing, looking bewildered as the visitors edged towards her and the doorway. ''Oh, dear, did you look in the fridge? You really shouldn't keep those things in there, Sherlock…''

''These people are not who they say they are, Mrs Hudson, phone the police.'' Sherlock informed her, ''they're snooping, they're here to get information.''

''Oh, but, he fixed the washing machine while he was downstairs…''

''Mrs Hudson!''

''Nothing wrong up here Mrs Hudson, everything's clean! We'll send you a letter. Bye!'' The Doctor said, taking her hand and squeezing it reassuringly as Donna hurried towards the stairs. With a last look at Sherlock Holmes, the Doctor departed, hurrying down the stairs after Donna and out onto the street, letting the door fall closed behind him.

''Sherlock, whatever's the matter?''

Already at the window, Sherlock watched them go, running down Baker Street and around the nearest corner. His pale green eyes narrowed, mouth tensed and dry. He had been trying to drive that out of his mind for hours, on the verge of throwing the contents of the bin out of the window.

He had not needed them spoken aloud by some stranger with a flashlight pen and a fake ID.

_I. O. U._


	3. Miscalculation

AN- Thanks to those of you who have started following this fic, hope you enjoy the next chapter!

* * *

><p>''I don't understand, who do you think they were?''<p>

Mrs Hudson stood patiently by the door, having heard it slam- though not as violently as it sometimes did when the consulting detective slid out at all hours of the day and night. He was rigid as he stood at the window, watchful long after the strange pair had vanished. He had been the same when Mrs Hudson got home, offering him a cup of tea, asking if he knew how the trial had ended.

He told her he'd already had some and to go away.

''Isn't it obvious?'' He replied, still staring through the glass. A flicker of black caught his eye as a cab pulled up; John, still in his smart suit and badly chosen striped tie, though now it was stuffed into his jacket pocket. It fluttered as he strode towards the front door.

''Well, _everything_ is obvious to you, Sherlock...''

''They were _fans_.'' He responded, finally turning away from the window with one swift motion. A quick 180 as he turned to face her, wearing an expression of deep distaste. Even the word was repellent in his mouth.

''Fans?'' The woman couldn't help chuckling, going to inspect the china that had been laid out when she first checked in on him. Still bearing remnants of tea; she should have come for it when she was doing the other washing up. ''How do you know that?''

''Oh, come on, just look at them- a duo, pretending to investigate something, one more intelligent than the other, fake ID, long coat-''

''His collar wasn't turned up, dear.''

''I don't do that.'' Sherlock retorted, striding across to his armchair and letting himself fall into it as John Watson entered the room.

''Don't do what? Answer your phone? Because you don't do that every time either.''

''I heard all I needed to.''

''Sherlock-'' John paused, steeling himself, his fingers alighting on the tie in his pocket as his hands went to rest on his hips, ''I'm just as angry as you are. It's all a scam-''

''Of course it is.''

''But there's nothing we can do now, other than watch him close. He's been in all the papers, they know his name, his face…''

''Yes, yes, and then the game begins again, doesn't it, it all goes round again because that's how he works.'' Sherlock muttered, long legs stretched out in front of him as he slouched in the chair. He had waited until every trace of Moriarty's heat had evaporated out of the fibres before he returned to it.

''No. No, you'll stop him.'' John said firmly, shaking his head, and then his tone softened; reassurance and faith. ''You'll stop him, Sherlock.''

''Yes.'' Sherlock replied after a moment. He stared ahead, into the void, into a nothingness which was invisible to those who shared the room with him. A gentle clink of china as Mrs Hudson collected the cups. His head turned, gaze resting on John Watson who stood resolute, angry, but not at him.

For him.

Sherlock offered a twitch of a smile, though it didn't register in his eyes.

''Yes. I will, John.''

* * *

><p>''<em>That <em>was Sherlock Holmes? Are you kidding me?'' Donna asked, shrugging off her jacket as they entered the TARDIS. ''I thought he was older, and his nose didn't look how I thought it would, and did you see his hair? What a scruff!''

''Yeeeah, well, Holmes was a bit of a scruff in the stories, I mean- he dressed like a gentleman but he kept his tobacco in a slipper and all sorts- but, I did pick up on something though, enough to know the trace had been there- but we missed it.''

''Missed it?''

''I think we overshot,'' the Doctor explained, jamming the sonic screwdriver into a port and examining the data it had collected on the screen, ''whatever or whoever caused the glitch, it wasn't here and now, even though their presence was left behind in that room. When we got pulled in, we were in turbulence. As soon as I tried to land the TARDIS…aha! When I tried to steady us and bring the ship down we overshot where the glitch actually is _in time_. Only a few years, I think, three or four.''

''Oh, yeah, only three or four, s'like five minutes.'' Donna replied, smirking a little as the Doctor gave her a look.

''Yeah alright,'' he couldn't help a little grin, ''you try landing this thing precisely after a burst of turbulence like that. It's not like parking a car...''

''That's a point, y'know. Did you have to have a test for this thing? Aww, did you have to have lessons?''

''Yeah, I had a little 'L' plate and everything.'' He replied wryly, earning a laugh from the red headed woman before grabbing hold of a nearby lever, ''right, come on then! Let's get to the glitch site and see if we can work out what Mr Holmes has to do with it.''

''Oh, here it comes….'' Donna rolled her eyes, but she was still grinning as she grabbed hold of something ready for the flight.

He yanked down on the lever and the TARDIS began to vibrate, that familiar, indescribable sound seeping through the air from the very heart of the machine, passing through them both, around them, and through the fabric of time and space itself.

''Allonsy!''


	4. Show Off

''This is the one, the signal is locking onnn….here!''

Donna braced herself well in advance, clinging to the nearest available surface as the TARDIS rocked and spun. Before she could even blow the stray hair from her eyes on landing, the Doctor was bounding up towards the doors, spinning on his heels to look at her.

''Come on!''

''Yeah alright, alright- oh, hold on, I'm getting a text…''

''Forget the text, this is the glitch site!''

''I don't know this number- hold on, what is this?''

The Doctor bounced on his heels, waiting impatiently for her to join him; a hiss of static drew his attention, freezing him in place. It grew louder, and suddenly there was a voice emanating through the TARDIS, the Doctor striding across to the control panel and the television screen. His eyebrows raised in confusion, trying and failing to place the face on the screen. A young man with slick dark hair and intelligent eyes, and the voice, though the image was static, reverberated through the TARDIS, repeating over and over again with a gentle Irish lilt.

DID YOU MISS ME? DID YOU MISS ME? DID YOU MISS ME?

''I've got the same thing on my phone, what the hell does that mean?'' Donna brandished her phone as she approached the control panel, peering at the face which had bewitched the Time Lord standing beside her. ''Who's he?''

''I've got absolutely no idea.'' He murmured.

DID YOU MISS ME?

The Doctor's gaze trailed up across the controls, noticing the strength of the signal, and of the voice as it seemed to surround them. ''Wait-''

He ran for the door, stepping out onto the familiar streets of London with that unfamiliar voice resounding through the city, gleefully broadcasting from every one of the large advertising screens, from every single phone and tablet, confusing every single Londoner who stood by staring at their technology being taken over.

DID YOU MISS ME?

''This bloke- is driving me- up- _the wall_…'' Donna gritted her teeth as she joined the Doctor, staring up at the massive screen beside him. ''Who is he? Some kind of prankster? Is this one of those weird ad campaigns for something?''

''I don't think so…''

''Ugh, make it stop! Can't you sonic it or something?''

''You want me to sonic a TV screen that's five storeys high?''

''You say that like it's impossible for you.'' Donna said, jerking a thumb at the TARDIS. He gave the screen a last glance, the enigmatic half smile that reigned above them all, before returning to the ship to try and wipe it off.


	5. Breadcrumbs

A handful of breadcrumbs, a line of business. Scratching off names and dates was almost as therapeutic as the gentle trilling of the pigeons pecking around his feet; his little habit. One specimen hobbled closer out of necessity, a curled club foot dragging along beneath it. The man sprinkled another helping of breadcrumbs among the birds, brushing his gloved fingers clean on one knee.

''Little red book- that beats the boring little black one…''

The man looked up, closing the book at the instant of intrusion. As he tucked it away safely into his jacket pocket he took in the young man standing beside the bench, nonchalant with his hands buried in his trouser pockets. The suit he wore was dark and fine, but of an unusual cut; probably foreign, but his accent did not align with the typical origins of fine tailoring.

''Can I help you?'' The older man asked, his voice calm and clear.

''Oh, I think so. We have some things in common, and I believe you'd be _very_ interested in a business offer I have.''

''What do you know of my interests, exactly?''

''Enough, Professor. Enough…'' Jim's dark eyes flashed, but they were the only marker of his excitement. ''Allow me to explain everything, if you'll walk this way- I promise you'll want more information.''

The older man continued to regard Jim for a moment, before his examinations were complete. He rose from the bench, curious, but also aware of a strange aura about the youth; there was almost a pull as he followed, as though falling into an orbit. He almost felt as though he knew this stranger. It felt natural to fall into step beside him, the warmth of early spring sunshine just penetrating through the clouds.

His grey eyes cast across to his man waiting on the other side of the grass verge; a hand rested within his jacket in readiness, as ever, the marksman eyeing them both from afar. The older man raised his hand lightly, an indication for him to wait. He would supervise, but retain distance for the moment. The smallest hand movement told him that he would draw close after two minutes. The marksman checked his watch.

Jim slowed his pace as they neared a deserted bandstand, hopping up onto the very bottom step to observe his new companions reaction. His hand went to his pocket, removing his phone. He showed it to the man briefly, earning a look of interest as the screen brightened. He keyed in the necessary passwords, and a quiet hum hit their ears, vibrating through them both as something shimmered in the bandstand.

A contraption appeared, about the size of a Hansom cab, seeming to come from the very air itself. The Professor took a slow step forward, his eyes fixed on the strange thing before him. A curved window revealed someone sitting inside, a young woman with blonde curls piled on top of her head who eyed them both with trepidation. The Professor drew level with Jim, who remained on the bottom step, his eyebrows raised expectantly.

''That device in your hand- what is it? Whose technology is this?''

''Now didn't I promise?''


	6. Brief Departures

''It's obviously not Moriarty. He put a gun in his mouth, I was there, and he's dead. Someone is using his face to provoke a reaction; it may be that the man we thought was Moriarty never actually was. He's still out there, and 'Jim Moriarty' was just another alias, a pawn.''

''What, so Richard Brook _was_ Richard Brook, and he was pretending to be Moriarty?'' John asked, watching as Sherlock paced the flat. They had been waving him goodbye only an hour ago, convinced that he wouldn't return. And yet, here they were, just as though nothing had happened...

He had settled in his old armchair, Mary seated opposite, frowning across at her when Sherlock's movement began to make him dizzy. She looked just as perplexed and gave a little shrug.

''Just another cover to confuse things. Whoever he was, he was playing the part of Moriarty, but the real deal is still out there. Or someone else is using Moriarty's face to poke at Sherlock and his brother…''

The Detective whirled around to face them both, though his gaze was settled intently on Mary. She offered another little shrug, crossing one foot up on the other more comfortably.

''It's obviously aimed at both of you.''

''Why would they bother using Moriarty's image?'' John cut in, ''why not just announce themselves some way?''

''Because it wouldn't ruffle as many feathers. The general public know him from the trials, but that's it. This message is for me.'' Sherlock responded, rolling his eyes as Mary raised an eyebrow at him. He muttered an addition. ''And Mycroft.''

''But why wait until now? As soon as they realised that you're alive they could have come clean and made a threat- if it's the actual Moriarty we don't know.''

Mary shook her head as she processed her husband's question, hands resting subconsciously over her belly. He couldn't help but flick his gaze to it too, drawn back up to her face where he was met with a gentle smile. She turned her face to Sherlock.

''They'll have been watching everything that happened with Magnusson- they don't want you to leave the country.''

''Sherlock, there's someone here to see you!'' Mrs Hudson's voice floated up from the floor below; they three had heard the doorbell and elected to ignore it. The landlady's voice was untroubled, as cheerful as ever.

''Tell them to go away, now is an inappropriate time and I can't have people traipsing in with their cheating wives-''

''It's about the gas readings!''

''Oh for God's sake, they should send letters round…'' John said, frowning as the sound of footsteps on the stairs began to grow louder. Sherlock had opened his mouth to speak but now stood frozen; his eyes narrowed as he saw the pair in the doorway, the wild haired man brandishing his identification.

''Ahh, sorry, won't be a minute, just need to do a quick reading up here and we'll be out of your hair…''

The clothes were spark enough. But the second he heard that familiar sound, saw the brown haired man step forward with that flashy thing in his hand, humming, the memory jolted into place.

''You. Get out. I remember you.''

''Mm, only feels like five minutes ago…'' Donna retorted, remaining in the doorway with her arms folded. Across the room John and Mary watched in confusion as their space was invaded by the skinny man with the long coat and the brightly lit stick. John raised his hands, palms facing the ceiling as he looked to Sherlock.

''Friends of yours? What the hell's happen- hey!''

''Ooh, congratulations!'' The Doctor had paused as he went to step past Mary, smiling brightly down at her. Her fingers dabbled against the small swell in her abdomen lightly as she gave a quizzical smile in return.

''They're just here to sniff around, they're a pair of fans-''

Donna's sharp laughter cut the Detective off mid-sentence; he gave her an icy stare before his eyes darted to the other one. He had been swinging the thing around the waste bin the last time he was here….

''Don't play dumb, it doesn't suit you- well, actually, it's probably an improvement on you-''

''What was that, mate?''

''So, who are you exactly?'' Mary asked, catching Donna's attention before she could even consider how much force her punch would require to knock Sherlock across the room. The red haired woman crossed the threshold, eyeing Sherlock as she passed; he eyed her right back, his lip curled.

''We're here to help.'' Donna responded, not sure what more to say. That usually did the trick, though it was always harder to give it conviction with people staring at you suspiciously.

''You may have noticed a strange signal earlier today, took over the whole of London, we're just here to check out the electrical equipment.'' The Doctor offered, having been intensely distracted by the Sonic. Suddenly he turned, pointing it directly at Sherlock, who regarded him stonily.

Then, Sherlock's phone beeped. The Doctor raised his eyebrows.

''You might want to check that.''

''And why's that? John, call the Police. These people are delusional. They turned up here years ago claiming to be from the gas company, now they're checking people's televisions.''

John was staring at the contraption in the Doctor's hand, squinting slightly.

''What is that?''

''Might be a taser.'' Mary offered. John shot her a look, but she merely smiled calmly. ''Sherlock, check your phone.''

''Why should I?''

''Because he was pointing this thing at it before it went off.''

Silence fell; Sherlock regarded the Sonic, held steadily in this stranger's hand. The Doctor stared back, curious, yet apprehensive. The Detective reached for his phone, sliding it from his pocket and flicking the lock screen away. He stared at the message, the number unknown.

''Sherlock?'' John instantly recognised the expression on his friend's face, brow furrowed with concern. ''What is it, what does it say?''

Sherlock raised his eyes slowly to the Doctor.

''Why are you pointing that at my phone?''

''Because there's a very particular signal coming from it. The same signal that came from that city wide broadcast.''

''Who's it from?'' John pressed again, pushing himself to his feet. He looked from the Doctor to Sherlock, whose face was suddenly inscrutable. His knuckles had turned white around his phone.

The text was burned into his mind, already racing a mile a minute, along with his heart.

'_Did you miss me? Missed you like you missed the ground. Come and play, Sherlock, have a much better game.'_

''It's from Moriarty.''


	7. Stardust

The hatch opened, but the guest and his marksman eyed it warily. The journey had been mostly smooth, with a slight jerk on take-off and landing; both men hung back, however, and Jim slipped forward, gesturing for them to follow him through. As the Professor stepped out he stared around, the style of the room evidently expensive, but unfamiliar to him.

The shape of the furniture, the designs on the wall, just like the cut of this strange man's suit, it was all from another place altogether.

''It's no illusion, if that's what you're thinking.''

Jim spoke from beside the ship, standing by with patient curiosity as the Professor regarded him. His dark eyes darted towards the windows pointedly.

''See for yourself.''

With a slow stride, his guest ventured towards the windows, his marksman close at hand. He could already see the metropolis before him, stretching wide and gleaming in the winter sun. Far below, a number of advanced carriages ran up and down the streets, each one lacking horses to drive it. They varied in colour, shape and size, and tiny pedestrians crossed the streets in orderly crowds at the command of highly stacked lights.

His companion took a deep breath, but neither of them said a word. Professor James Moriarty could see that it was London, but not his own.

There stood the very Parliament that Blackwood had attempted to choke with noxious fumes. Where he had gained a most profitable asset for his 'business', but that was a mere daydream compared to what he would find here…

He slowly walked along the window, observing his altered city, before turning to look at Jim. The younger man was watching him intently.

''What year is this?'' The Professor asked, his voice calm despite the increase in his heart rate. Jim recognised the flicker of intrigue in his eyes.

''It's 2014. It's going to be your year, Professor, as well as mine. And oh, you are going to _love_ all the new toys I've got to show you…''

Jim smirked a little as the Professor turned back to the window, stepping closer to the glass to observe the street below them. His man, Moran, lit a cigarette and shook his head profusely as the first drag streamed from his mouth. The Moran of this century was taking care of business at the other end of the room- and speaking of…

The girl at the ship's control panel had appeared at the hatch door, warily awaiting further instruction; she glared at Jim as his attention turned to her.

''Why so serious?'' He asked her playfully, the reference wasted, but amusing him all the same. He pulled an exaggerated frown. ''She's safe, and so are you, so long as you do as you're told.''

She continued to regard him coolly.

''I want to talk to her.''

He sighed and rolled his eyes, gesturing for her to go ahead and following as she stepped out of the ship. They crossed to the other side of the vast room, where his Moran and a companion guard were keeping watch on the small but muscular girl sitting standing in the corner. Jim hung back, reaching into his pocket for a tab of chewing gum while the ship's pilot rushed forward.

The younger girl in the corner was also blonde, though her hair was lighter and dead straight, tied back in a simple pony tail. They stood a few feet apart, not allowed to be too close. A square enclosed her, marked out by four devices screwed to the ground. Above her was an identical arrangement, all linked together, and designed to detect her particular DNA signature. If she moved beyond that square without prior permission from Jim's phone, then the explosive device strapped to the pilot's chest would detonate.

''Hello, Stardust.'' The younger girl said, smiling slightly. The pilot smiled back weakly, only a little reassured by her nickname.

''Are you okay?''

''Well as okay as I can be in an invisible cell…I'm fine. We'll get out of this.''

''But he has your screwdriver…and this-'' the older girl said, indicating the device on her chest- it was designed like a bullet proof vest, but all the danger lay within the lining, directly over her heart. ''How do we get out of this…?''

The younger girl glanced across to Jim, who offered a casual wink in response before gesturing to Moran and his companion. They moved closer, awaiting further instruction.

''Now you can't chat all day, ladies, there's work to be done. People to see, universes to cross…''

''Do what he says. I'll get you out of here, I promise.''

The two guardsmen lifted their weapons sharply as the younger girl lunged forward, stopping dead before her restriction. Jim raised a hand airily, indicating they could relax their weapons. As the pilot looked to her friend, stepping closer, she was met with wide eyes; a wild intelligence, but reassuring. It was so very familiar to her, in more ways than one. Her hand shot across the threshold to grab onto the younger girl's- she could cross that line, but not the captive. The guns were trained on them again, but both elected to ignore it.

''Go now, you'll be fine.''

''But what can I do?''

The pilot gripped her hand tight, the first hand she had ever held since her extraordinary rescue. She owed the girl her life, and trusted her with it implicitly, but it hung in the balance right at that very moment.

''Just stay calm…''

''Tick tock, tick tock…'' Jim muttered, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. He let out an audible puff of air, imitating an explosion.

''Stay calm,'' the captive girl repeated, shuffling something into the others sleeve; their gazes never broke for a second, in silent understanding, ''there's some jelly babies in the ship, why don't you pass them round? _Do what he says_, until you see me again. He needs to see me, or you'll die.''

''Okay….okay.''

''I need my pilot, time's up. And you…'' Jim eyed the captive briefly, brandishing his phone. ''Sit tight. As long as my updates are continuous, you'll both refrain from being dead.''

''Guns are cowardly. But you'll pay for this…''

''Says the girl without a gun- is that the plan, disarm my guards and then turn one of those on little old me?''

Her face darkened, but she raised it defiantly.

''I never would.'' _Never again._

Jim made a face before he turned to go, the older girl reluctantly following after him. She shot a backwards glance at her captive friend, who stared after her intently. Adjusting her sleeve subtly, she walked on behind the little Irish man; against the skin of her wrist, the tiny little key was cool. She dutifully entered the ship, taking her seat at the control panel, watching through the window as the two Moriarty's conversed.

Her gaze flicked to the little locked panel on the dashboard, twitching her sleeve down a little more.

In the corner, the captive settled herself down on the floor cross-legged, staring up at her guards with an amused smile on her face. She raised her eyebrows, silently asking what they were waiting for. They stepped back, eyeing her cautiously as they returned to a more casual guard stance. Her eyes closed, settling quietly, almost meditative.

She could have sworn she'd felt something earlier, before her ship returned and smothered whatever the sensation was. She took a few deep breaths, tuning out the room and the whispered hum of the devices that caged her. Within her chest, two hearts beat steadily, and her doubled pulse centred her as she listened.

It was there again, distant, but familiar, and her hearts each skipped a beat, causing her to gasp-

_He was there_. The Doctor.

Her Father.


End file.
